


Doctor's Visit

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst and Humor, Don't Have to Know Canon, Don't try this at home (or on the road), Retirement, Sickfic, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:43:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Watson falls ill, Holmes improvises the necessary treatment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor's Visit

**Author's Note:**

> Dubious medical practices. Dubious retirement-era speculation. Dubious driving. Written for the following prompt: "Watson falls ill and Holmes has to care for him. "

 

The fever was a swift one, striking with almost no warning.

I had felt a little over-tired, but nothing more than that, when I retired to bed the second day of my holiday visit to Holmes. But a little extra fatigue was not surprising, considering the length of the drive I’d undertaken. And I was no longer a young man.

When I woke a few hours later, I ached all over, and my head rattled with the force of my chattering teeth. It was difficult to think, but even in my sorry state, I was able to diagnose the onset of an ague.  Fortunately I’d brought my doctor’s bag with me, and there was a pitcher of water to hand next to the wash-basin. Even more fortunately, I had some fever-reducing powders already mixed up. I wouldn’t have to try and compound anything  by the light of a candle.

The room swam when I rose from my bed, but I steadied myself with a few deep breaths.  I managed to measure out and down a dose of the reducer. I made myself finish the glass of water I poured out to chase it down, then returned to my bed and huddled down beneath the blankets. My last thought was that I wished there was an extra blanket to add to the pile. I felt very, very cold.

My sleep was uneasy, but deep; I could not open my eyes, or make sense of the impressions that bombarded me. I had hazy recollections of an alarmed voice, and shaking, but nothing made sense. Moisture touched my lips, but it was warm and tasted strangely, so I forced it away. Then I felt light, as if buoyed up by clouds, and perfectly safe, although my body still ached terribly. More voices, and a cool breeze touching my cheeks, followed by a soft patting sensation. I tried to speak, but was drowned out by a thunderous roar.

The roar continued far past what a lion could manage. Not even a whole pride of lions could make such a racket. They were so loud, in fact, my whole body shook with the sounds. The strangeness finally was enough to rouse me. With a massive effort, I opened my sticky, gummed-together eyelids.

The sight that met my eyes made no sense whatsoever.  I saw a plaid fringe, practically in front of my nose, and beyond it, wood and metal and hazy light. I tried to flinch away from the material, and found myself pressing back against something firm and unyielding. Pressure across my lap kept me in place. Not that I had the strength to move. Even the attempt left me shaking. A strangled groan escaped my lips.

“Watson?”

I knew that voice. I rolled my head in its direction.

An enormous, gangly, back-lit figure met my eyes. Huge alien eyes glinted with reflected light. I cried out as it stretched one impossibly long limb towards me.

“Watson!” Again, I recognized that voice, although all else seemed strange. “It’s all right, my dear fellow. I’m here.”

I blinked, and the fearsome figure resolved itself into Holmes, with a driving coat and goggles obscuring his more usual attire. As soon as I recognized him, I realized that the ‘lions roaring’ was actually the sound of a car-engine. The shaking was the vibration of the vehicle as it jounced along a country lane. And the plaid fringe belonged to the topmost of several blankets wrapped around my form. “Holmes?” I coughed out the name, feeling a dryness in my throat.

“Yes, Watson. Don’t try to talk. You’re very ill. I grew alarmed when you failed to come down this morning, and found you in your room, burning with fever. You wouldn’t wake, no matter how I shook you. We’re on our way to the doctor now.”

My eyelids dragged down with confusion and fatigue. I struggled to keep them open. “Why?”

Another man might not have understood, but Holmes, as always, read my mind. “Yes, under normal circumstances, Dr. Ruttlefield would come to you, not the other way around. But he is laid up with a wrenched knee. It would take too long to get him to the cottage, if he would come at all, and you need immediate attention. So I carried you down to the car, and we are on our way to his home in the village.”

The words were clipped, and precise as always, but I could hear the worry behind them. “S’alright, Holmes. I’ll be okay.”

“Yes, you will.” It was a command, and also a plea. Very unusually, Holmes continued on. “And after you’ve seen the doctor, I’ll take you home. Between my honey and the Sussex air, we’ll have you healthy in no time.”

“Thank you,” I sighed. There was so much more I wanted to say in response to that, but my energies were fading fast. I felt myself start to slip back towards fevered slumber. The sound and vibration were soothing, now that I knew what they were. And Holmes was nearby. It was safe enough to drift off, if he was nearby. He would keep me safe, even though he was preoccupied.

Something about that sparked a memory, and I made myself speak, although my eyes remained closed. “Didn’t know you c’ld drive.”

Holmes was silent. I opened one eye and tried to focus on him. “Holmes?”

“The principle is simple enough. And there’s a first time for everything.”


End file.
